9: A New World
by nurzubesuch
Summary: Can you rebuild your home, after so much bad has happened? Can you live in this new world, after the last one has ended? What is there to hold onto – but hope?


**A new Story. I know I let you guys wait. If any of you is left out there, to wait for another of these ... But if you are, welcome back. This story isn´t finished.**

 **Disclaimer as always: I don´t earn any money with this and I don´t own it, except for the plot.**

* * *

 **Violence**

The girl was struggling. Of course. They all struggled. But eventually they always gave in. Just like this one. Her resistance went weaker, her hands stopped hitting out, to keep him away, the only thing that got stronger yet was her sobs, tears flowing freely. Because of the pain, the fear. Because of the betrayal. She´d trusted him. They all trusted him. Until before the end.

"Why?" he heard her sob, voice hurt, barely a voice anymore. So stupid. "Why? D …"

He closed her mouth with a slap over the face. "Shut up, slut. You´re not to speak."

She kept sobbing, and he kept thrusting. God he loved the mix of those sounds. What did she want anyway? Fifteen was no age to know anything about trust. Real trust. Still she should have known better than to come here with him. It was the stupidest thing in the world, to follow a stranger, even one that you knew, to a deserted place like this, where no one would hear your screams. But he hadn´t given her a chance to scream. Only one time, for his own amusement, and then he´d shut her up. One quick strike against her throat had done the trick. Never failed, and all that was left were the quiet and desperate sobs that were necessary to get him to the point. And he was so close. Yes. Yes.

A noise behind the bushes made him halt, abruptly, holding his breath. Was someone there? Impossible. He´d checked the place maybe a dozen times. No one ever came here. Not at this time of the night.

Another ruffle of the leaves. A footstep. Shit.

"Stop it!" someone shouted. "Let her go!"

The girl gasped, her eyes going wide, with hope. "Help!" she cried, as loud as she could, barely whispering. "Oh please, help."

"Stop." the man behind the bushes cried out again. He must have stumbled, fallen to his knees. He sounded as if he was sobbing himself. Maybe there was still a chance to get away unseen.

When the girl started to struggle again, he stopped her struggling for good. There was no time for a gentle strangling this time. He needed to get away. So he yanked her head aside, fast, too fast for her small neck to stand the tension. And she lay still.

He got up. He could still not see anyone behind those bushes. It was too dark. He got his pants back up and zipped them, already running.

The girl he´d just raped wouldn´t be the last one he murdered. He´d get another one, only a week later, just before a series of earthquakes, followed by a flood and lots of fires all over the city, would keep him and almost everyone in Santa Barbara very busy. When your own city went down to hell, even a rapist knew that it was time to step back. At least for a while.

...

The building was shattered, ashes and debris lying and sometimes hanging everywhere. No one who saw it would believe that anyone could still be alive in there. But there was. And that´s the reason why the firefighters still didn´t abandon the place. An old woman, living on the third floor, didn´t get out in time when the building collapsed. Now she got carried out by two firefighters, directly into the ambulance. A guy with a broken leg, got dragged out of a window, one firefighter helping him climb down the ladder. And in the meantime the building cracked and groaned, under the pressure the last remaining stones were carrying. Only a few more minutes and it would come down, five minutes tops, that´s the most optimistic guess. And there were still people inside.

A family of four, locked in their apartment. Two firefighters were still inside, busy to open their door, ignoring the order of their boss to get the hell out already. They were almost done. And then, at last, the door gave in. It opened and the mother fell out, too weak by now, her daughter cradled in her arms. The son, a little older, looked frightened, clinging to his father´s leg.

"The baby." he told the firefighters, his voice trembling. "The baby of the Osmonds. I heard it cry. They´re one story above us."

The two firemen exchanged a glance. They knew there was no chance to get up there in time and get this family out at once. And the building was collapsing. Already there was another crack and the sound of debris falling down, somewhere in another part of the building. So they urged the four people out to the next window and waved and yelled until the firetruck spotted them and sent them the saving ladder.

"I´ll go back up." one of them decided, after the family is outside.

"What?"

"If there´s someone up there, we have to check."

"You´re crazy."

The walkie-talkie cracked, spitting out the voice of their boss. "Dick, Rudi. What the hell are you waiting for? Get out already."

"Rudi wants to check the story above, boss. The father said he heard a baby cry. They might be injured up there."

"Dear god." the boss exclaimed. "There´s no time for that. The building´s falling apart."

And as if to underline that statement a part of the ceiling broke lose.

"There´s no chance, Rudi. Let´s go."

But Rudi only pushed his colleague toward the window, already running back inside.

"Rudi!"

Dick climbed out of the window onto the ladder, before the rest of the hallway could crush him. Outside no one knew anymore what was going on inside.

No one saw Rudi climbing up the stairs, barely escaping a big junk of debris falling down from the ceiling, tearing away the stairs just behind him, the only way back out. No one saw him enter the apartment, from which he heard the cries of the baby or how he found the unconscious mother on the ground, still holding the infant, a trail of blood on her face. No one could even try to imagine the terror on his face, when he looked around, helplessly, knowing that there´s no way, no way for him to get out of there, with or without them. Because his boss was right. The building was falling apart, right now, and a big piece of it hit him over the head, just as he wanted to pick up the baby. He fell, his body saving the child from getting hit too, and landed on the mother, already unconscious himself.

No one outside knew what he felt when the impact of that stone knocked him out. No one knew that his last thought before he lost consciousness was of his own boy, back home, and that this baby reminded him of him, only a few years ago. No one saw him lying there, over the two people he came to save, just as the building started to collapse over them. And no one saw the man, that materialized beside them, just a second before it really would have been too late.

Hiro gasped, when he saw them and hurried to huddle down, grabbing their shoulders. He closed his eyes, hoping, praying that he´d be quick enough, because if he wouldn´t, there´d be four dead people here, not just three. He heard the ceiling crack, coming down, just above his head. A gush of wind on his face. And then:

"HIRO!"

Ando rushed to him, the walkie-talkie still in his hand and grabed his shoulders, as if Hiro could collapse the next moment, just like the building collapsed, just behind them, on the other side of the parking lot.

He smiled, looking up at his friend, and Ando exhaled, in relief.

"That was a close one." he said and Hiro can only agree. But it was worth it. More than worth it. And knowing that was enough.

They left the firefighter and his saved ones on the ground, to be found seven minutes later, under screaming applause.

...

Dave Micks ran along the street, dodging a woman way too fat for normal standards and used her to push himself around the next corner. She complained, loudly, but she barely swayed because of him. Stupid fat prat. How´s anyone around in those trashed streets anyway? The neighborhood should have been abandoned.

Dave clung to the little bag full of jewelry he´d gotten back there in the shop, abandoned as the neighborhood should have been. And then the cops had shown up. Who had called them on him anyway? This little bag would bring him enough money to get out of Santa Barbara at last and hopefully to a nicer place, somewhere at a beach. Somewhere far away from the prison he´d just escaped from. A place he never wanted to see again.

Damn he never wanted to see this whole city ever again. This living hell on earth. And those cops back there, would not stop him. They would not …

He reached the next corner, to dodge out of the alley he´d used as a shortcut, and faced straight into the muzzle of a gun.

"Freeze, douchebag."

Dave froze, dead in his tracks, unable to believe this. It was the lanky guy, he´d seen back at the street, when the cops had gotten out of their cars. Before Dave had bolted. Damn, this guy had been the last Dave had expected to catch him. How could he run into the trap of a guy that had one arm in a sling?

The detective smiled, and nodded at him. "Hands in the air." he ordered, calmly and Dave grumbled, obeying the order. Dammit he hated this city.

"Detective Lassiter." the reporters cried, when they led him to the car, cuffed hands behind his back, flashes of cameras blinding not only the culprit. Microphones were pointed at them from three different directions. "Detective Lassiter, this is the fifth escapee you arrested in only one week. And it is only Wednesday. How did you find all those men, especially considering the bad shape of Santa Barbara´s streets? Is it right to assume that there is more than just luck involved?"

"You´re damn right to assume that." Lassiter replied, grimly. "A good detective doesn´t rely on luck."

"Then how did you find those men?"

"We …"

"Because I told them where to find them." the department´s very own psychic shoved himself into the picture, blocking the detective. His hand was hovering at the level of his temple, a kinky smile on his lips.

"You´re psychic, right?" the reporters immediately turned their attention away from the annoyed detective, towards the man with the confident smile.

"You have visions that tell you what´ll happen."

"That´s right." Shawn Spencer answered. "That´s how I found these criminals. I closed my eyes, put a pin in my hand and stuck it into the streetmap, right where the culprits would be."

"So you do foresee things."

"Ye …"

"How did you not foresee these earthquakes?"

"Or the fires?"

"Or the flood?"

"How do you explain all this?"

Shawn Spencer, was at a loss of words, gaping at the questioning eyes of the reporters, their microphones, their cameras.

"I … actually we – I … did … see something." he stuttered. "Only … my vision was so … blurred and unclear that I wasn´t sure what I saw there. I …"

"Spencer, stop babbling around and move your feet." Lassiter shouted, angrily.

"But why didn´t you say anything?" the reporter kept asking. "Why didn´t you warn the people of Santa Barbara so they could prepare and maybe get to safety? There were at least forty-two victims that we know of so far and the numbers are still rising. Hundreds got injured. Every day they find more people under the debris and …"

"Interview´s over." Lassiter barked, making the reporter skip back a little. "Get off my crime scene before I arrest you too. McNab!"

"But, detective Lassiter, we …"

"Get lost, I said!"

With that said, the detective dragged the startled psychic behind, away from that herd of hungry reporters, huffing in annoyance.

"She´s right you know." Shawn mumbled, frowning thoughtfully. "Why didn´t we say anything? We did know what would happen. We had the dreams. Why didn´t we warn anyone?"

"And what were we supposed to say?" Lassiter asked, swirling the fake psychic around. "Take cover people, a dark angel will come from out of hell to destroy the world? We did what we could to stop this from happening. And we failed. Now we have to live with the debris and try to make the best of it. Get over it."

After this statement, the detective stalked away, to his car and the culprit that needed to be transported back to prison.

"He´s right, Shawn." a much softer voice spoke up. "There´s nothing we could have done differently."

Shawn looked into Juliet´s sympathetic eyes, unable to comprehend the words he´d just heard, from both of them.

"How do we make the best of something like that?" he asked, almost angry at the mere suggestion.

"By holding on." Juliet told him, stepping closer. "And by catching the bad guys that try to take advantage of this tragedy."

Shawn gazed at her, and he felt more hurt than he would have expected. He´d thought to be able to deal with this, to keep going the way he always kept going. With a cocky smile and some well placed jokes all over the place, to keep people smile even in the face of death. But as it seemed this time he couldn´t. His ability to do just that, seemed to have abandoned him.

Juliet rubbed his back, comfortingly. "Come on." she said. "I want to know if the other team caught the culprits Molly pointed out in Chinatown." After a few steps she added: "It wasn´t too nice of you, to claim the credit for her work, you know."

Shawn chuckled. "Well, I guess the doc wouldn´t be too crazy about the idea, to drag her into the spotlight." he mentioned, glancing over the street. A man was standing there, watching them. Or … glancing in their direction by coincidence? He turned around and walked away, just as Shawn spotted him, his movements casual and nonchalant. Or was it?

"Detective O´Hara, just one question." one reporter caught up with them, wielding his microphone. More of them followed. "Can you confirm any of the rumors that talk of strange events and mysterious helpers that have been reported all over the city?" the man asked, all of the others listening intensely for her answer. Juliet´s gaze was placid, almost hard.

"People help each other in hard times like this?" she asked, as if she didn´t understand the question. "I don´t know what´s supposed to be mysterious about that."

"I´m sure you´ve been following the news too." the reporter went on, not a bit irritated. "People talk about incidents that seemed to involve more than just civil courage. Some of them might not only be local heroes if you understand."

Shawn glanced at Juliet, at her sarcastic smile. "No." she said. "I´m afraid I don´t." Before the reporter could say anymore she talked over him. "I don´t understand how a tragedy like this is not enough for you guys." she spat, suddenly more than just angry. "And that you still need to hunt for some sensations by making the natural courage of people that have seen the worst into something that has to be mysterious. And maybe if you dig long enough you´ll find the Loch Ness monster under one of the broken buildings. Right next to a crushed five year old. Now excuse me."

Shawn had to gather his own baffled thoughts, before he could make his feet move, to follow after her. He caught up with her at her car, trying to touch her shoulder but she hit him away.

"Let me." she cried, and when their gazes met, her furious gaze cracked, suddenly, and violently.

Her sobs came so unexpected, that he caught her more than he pulled her into his embrace. It was a breakdown that could crush his insides, but somehow he managed it to hold her. And himself.

...

In Durham-Street two people were standing behind the glass, watching a boy standing between two stretchers in the morgue. The bodies were covered, except for their faces, both of them pale, despite the dark skin of the man. Micah hadn´t moved for almost a minute, standing with his dead family in absolute silence. As if praying. But Molly knew he wasn´t praying. Not Micah. He´d stopped praying since his mother´s funeral, years ago. Almost a lifetime ago.

She looked up, at the cop standing beside her, and Matt´s frown was dark, just as her mood. His eyes were asking, if she wanted him to help. He could take Micah by his shoulder, and guide him out of this cold room, away from the bodies. But Molly shook her head. This was her responsibility.

"Let _me_ talk to him." she spoke, quietly, and Matt closed his eyes, only for a second, sighing. He nodded, and let Molly walk through the door on her own.

Micah didn´t turn around, when she entered. As if he didn´t care who just came in, to interrupt him in his solitude with the dead. But somehow Molly knew, that he didn´t need to ask who it was. Her guess was confirmed when he spoke up.

"I need to bring them home." he said, his voice heavy with grief. "To bury them."

Molly looked at his back. He hadn´t turned around once. Hadn´t looked up from his aunt´s face.

"In Vegas?" Molly asked and Micah nodded.

"They should stay with the family."

Molly stepped closer, to his side, and finally he turned and looked at her.

"I´ll go with you." she said, making his dead face turn alive again, with confusion, and irritation.

"Why would you do that?" he asked.

Molly stepped even closer, never leaving his eyes. "Because you shouldn´t have to do that alone." she told him, and she could see that the tears he had refused to cry so far, were trying to break free at last. Molly reached out for him and he hugged her back, desperately, gratefully, his quiet sobs in her shoulder.

Outside the door behind Matt got opened, quietly, never even noticed by the two kids behind the glass. Matt turned around, to face the man who´d just entered. Nathan looked almost ashamed for having intruded this place, especially at this moment. The two of them watched the kids in silence for a while, and the two bodies they mourned.

"Is there really nothing we can do?" Nathan asked, breaking the stillness, his voice almost breaking, as if he hadn´t spoken in months. "Using Claire´s blood for example."

Matt only shook his head. "We tried. Something happened to their bodies … and hers … it makes it impossible. We still don´t know how Angel´s power really worked …" he took a breath, nodding at the glass. "... on them."

"How it killed them?"

Matt clenched his yaw, not meeting the other man´s gaze. "Yeah."

Nathan looked back into the other room, gloomily. "It´s not fair." he said, at last. "Somehow. I get to come back from the dead …" he took a deep breath. "And they have to go. It´s not fair."

Matt regarded the politician from the side, startled. This time it was Nathan who seemed oblivious to Matt´s presence, lost in the sight before him. Until Matt spoke again.

"People die … Nathan." he told him. "There´s nothing we can do about that." he lowered his eyes, for a second. "Mostly."

Nathan nodded, hesitantly, before returning his eyes to the kids. "I´ll go with them." he told Matt. "To Vegas. See that they get a proper burial. It´s the least I can do."

Once again Matt regarded him, trying to figure out what he just heard, and he didn´t even need to read his mind for that.

"You know this wasn´t your fault." he said, watching the other man closely. "Right?"

For a moment, Nathan seemed shocked, or at least startled, over that question. But then he merely nodded, accepting this truth, as simple and painful as it was.

"I know." he said, his eyes on the dead. "I know."

The taxi was waiting at the corner, where the crack that ran down Durham-Street ends. It parked at the curbside, right behind the van Micah would travel in.

"Don´t forget to call me and tell me if they caught them." Molly demanded, before she´d take her seat next to him in the passenger seat.

"I promise." Mohinder replied. "As soon as Juliet or Shawn call me, I´ll let you know."

"If they need me again, to find anyone of their …"

"The police is very capable of catching the criminals all on their own, Molly." he talked over her, gently. "You did a good job. Now take care of your friend. And yourself."

"You too." She hugged him, one last time, and got in, to sit by Micah´s side, all the way down to the airport in L.A. Since the Santa Barabara Airport was devastated by the earthquake all the flights had to start there. Their´s too.

"Good bye, Peter." Angela Petrelli said, as the three of them reach the cab. "Take care of yourself. And let others do some work too, at least once in a while."

Peter smiled at her. "I try." And he hugged her goodbye, just as Molly had done it before. "Bye mom."

"I see you in New York, Nathan." the mother said, to make sure her eldest still remembered to come home.

Nathan nodded. "As soon as everything´s done." he promised.

Peter reached out, taking his arm, to make his brother look at him. "No one blames you for their death, except for you." he said, and Nathan cast down his gaze.

"If I would have listened to you, earlier, it might not have come that far."

When he looked up again, he seemed to meet Mohinder´s gaze on purpose, no matter how briefly.

"That´s in the past, Nathan." Peter told his brother, but Nathan´s sigh told another story.

"Not yet." he glanced at the boy, in the van, and of course Peter understood.

"Take care." he said. The only thing he still could say.

"You too."

A brief hug, and Nathan gave a nod.

"Mohinder."

"Nathan." he returned the nod, and somehow he could see that there was an unspoken apology hidden in the politician´s gaze. Whether it was for him or for someone else, he wasn´t sure.

After Nathan was behind the wheel of the van, the two cars drove off, leaving Mohinder and Peter behind, to watch them go.

"I need to get to the hospital." Peter finally broke the silence, saving them both from an unwanted and probably way too uncomfortable dialogue. Just a brief: "See you soon." and he flew off, taking the fastest version of traveling, and Mohinder thought to himself, that now might be the only time ever that he could do this so openly in the street, without risking anyone to see him and gape.

As he walked back to the building, he was sure to be unwatched as well, that Durham-Street was as abandoned as it looked after this earthquake. He didn´t see the figure standing between the bushes, watching patiently, in utter silence, even after Mohinder was back inside.


End file.
